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The next morning, Brad tapped on the steering wheel of the truck and whistled as it zoomed over the back roads. The news truck was drawing startled looks from the Amish passersby, but there were few on the roads at that hour. Most were in fields or workshops at that time of day.
Brad consulted the directions the shop lady had given him, and to his relief, this time they were correct. As she had described, there was the King farm: an immaculate white farm house, surrounded by a green patchwork of garden plots and fields.
Brad pulled the truck into the long driveway to the farm, but to his surprise, there was already a car in the drive.
Even he knew that a car at an Amish house meant that something was up.
He pulled in behind the car and got out. There was movement on the farmhouse porch. The redheaded girl was standing there, looking even better than he remembered. But to his astonishment – and suspicion – the businessman he had seen at the store was there, too. He was gesturing earnestly toward the girl. Brad scrambled out of the car and strode up to the house.
“Hi there!” he called to her, putting up a hand. “Remember me? We met at the store yesterday, by accident. My name is Brad Williams.”
He bounded up the porch steps and smiled big and bright. The girl’s luminous green eyes met his doubtfully, and made his skin tingle in the places they swept.
The other man turned to him impatiently. “Look, kid, why don’t you get out of here,” he snapped. “This is none of your business, after all. This young lady was about to sell me my mother’s clock.” He stuck a handful of cash towards her.
For the first time, Brad noticed that the girl was holding the old clock that had fallen on the sidewalk. He frowned and looked up at her.
“Look, miss, I don’t know you, but I came out here to ask you about this clock. Don’t sell it just yet. Do you remember that when you dropped it, and the back popped open, that a paper fell out? I just wanted to ask you what it was. Have you looked at the paper?”
The girl frowned, and shook her head.
“Well,” he added gently, “don’t you think you should look at the paper, before you sell the clock? You never know. Sometimes little things like that turn out to be important.” He shot a dry look at the other man. “Or valuable!”
“That clock is worthless to anybody but me,” the businessman interjected. “I’m doing you a favor, young lady, by offering you a profit. I hope you don’t plan to take advantage of the situation!”
Brad shot him an unfriendly glance. “You’re awfully eager,” he observed. “I wonder why?”
“Miss, we have an agreement,” the other man said, in an irritated tone. “I expect you to honor your promise!”
She looked at him, and spoke for the first time. Brad was alarmed to discover that the sound of her voice was like velvet against his ear, and made it difficult to concentrate on what she was actually saying. He shook his head slightly, as if to recalibrate it.
“No, I didn’t promise,” she replied doubtfully. “You said you wanted to see the clock, and I told you I’d bring it out.”
Her eyes moved back to Brad. “What do you want to ask me about it?”
His eyes lingered wistfully on hers. He smiled again, a bit crookedly. “I just want to know what the paper is.”
“Why?”
“I work for a newspaper. There might be a story in it.”
Instantly, he was conscious of having made a mistake. She pulled the clock to her chest, and for an instant he was afraid that she would run inside the house. She shook her head.
“No, I won’t be in the paper. I won’t have my picture taken!” she replied firmly.
Brad put up his hands. “Okay, I get it, I respect that,” he answered quickly. “But can you at least just satisfy my curiosity? I’d really like to know what the paper is.”
“You have no business being here at all!” the other man broke out savagely.
Brad met his glare steadily. “As much as you, friend,” he replied through his teeth.
The girl looked first at the businessman and then back at him. Finally she looked down at the clock, and opened the back panel. A small, yellowed piece of paper fell out into her hands.
She unfolded it.
“It’s a letter,” she said simply and then frowned.
“From who?” Brad moved as close as he dared.
She was staring at the paper as if she couldn’t believe her eyes. “George Washington,” she replied, in a stunned tone.
In spite of himself, Brad leaned over and snatched it out of her hands. He looked down at it in amazement. Sure enough, there was the signature. He raised his eyes to hers, and smiled apologetically as he handed it back.
“I’m sorry, miss, that was rude of me. It’s just that – do you know how valuable this might be?”
“This is outrageous!” the other man exploded. “That clock belonged to my mother for years, and by rights, it belongs to me now! Take the money, and give me my clock!” He threw a handful of bills down at her feet.
With one swift step, Brad moved between the other man and the girl. “Hey, leave her alone!”
The other man suddenly stepped up and drew his fist back. The girl screamed, and Brad put up his arms to block the blow.
But he was spared the necessity.
A huge redheaded man suddenly loomed up behind the businessman, grabbed him by the shoulders, and flung him a good fifteen feet out onto the lawn. The man hit the ground rolling, scrambled up, fell, got up again, and ran for his life.
He jumped into his car. It roared to life and scratched off down the road in a frenzied cloud of dust.
Then the flame-haired giant turned around. He was wearing a grim expression that Brad had no trouble interpreting.
He eyes widened. He put up his hands. “Okay, I’m leaving. I am going now.” He backed warily around the other man, and down the porch.
But as he left, he called out, “Miss, I’m telling you, you should have that letter appraised. If it’s real, it could be worth a fortune! You might be rich –”
The older man made as if to come after him, and he turned and beat a hasty retreat.
But he turned at the car door and called out again. “Have it appraised!”
Then the big man came striding across the lawn after him, and he was obliged to beat the second hasty retreat of the morning.
